We
by Nigihayami Haruko
Summary: Everyone knew that there was no longer a “we”. Most of them saw or heard or read or attended Fred’s funeral... They knew that "we" had silently, factually and irreversibly turned into "me".


**Disclaimer**: I'd love to own the twins. And Ron. And Oliver. And Bill. And Charlie. And Snape. And Sirius. And Harry. And Draco. And Blaise. But Christmas doesn't come in July. So there.

The Miracle of We

It should be odd really. Everyone noticed the first couple of months, but they either pretended it was a common occurrence or they had already treated it as one of those things you simply could not change. Like the way Ron always put his foot in his mouth when it came to Hermione, or the way Percy was still a prat (a _nicer_ prat, a _different _kind of prat) but still a prat; especially when it came to the Ministry. Little things like that.

"So we came up with this _brilliant _idea, you've got to listen to this…" George would begin. Even though the audience (whoever it was) knew that the sentence was somewhat illogical.

Everyone knew that there was no longer a "we". Most of them saw or heard or read or attended Fred's funeral. They were there when the wall fell or when the dirt was thrown over the coffin. They knew that _we_ had silently, factually and irreversibly turned into _me_. And no amount of trickery, magic, pranking or copious ingestion of Firewhiskey was ever going to change that.

It was not that way at the beginning. At first George had stopped talking altogether. He ate when he was supposed to eat, slept when he was supposed to sleep, other than that, he just _sat_ there. Like he was exhausted and wore this perpetual _look_ in his eyes that screamed for everyone to stay away.

So they did. Not because they were too wrapped up in their grief they all had forgotten about him, but because they realized that even if they were sitting next to him, prancing around in their birthday suits, he would only see one person and no one else.

So they waited for that shadow to disappear. Fred's shadow - the one that was hiding in the family clock that perpetually pointed to "in danger" because no one had the heart to put "deceased" on its face.

They despaired. Harry bought George tickets to every single Merlin-be-damned Quidditch game (even the Chudley's, although Ron had grabbed it before Harry could explain why he was there), but he never went. Mrs. Weasley cooked all his favourite food, still he never ate it with the same gusto he did before… _before_. Even Ginny, their favourite sibling, the one that had them wrapped around her little finger, could not get him to crack a smile. It seemed as though he would never speak again, quite the same way his ear would never grow back.

Then one day, a day not too hot nor cold, too sunny nor gloomy, neither too special nor nondescript, everything changed. It was as though a bludger had smacked the ex-Beater the right side of his noggin', or Malfoy announced in a pink tutu that he was going to belly dance, something just _changed_.

George strolled down the stairs whistling (_whistling!_) and asked his mother if there was any of _their_ favourite blueberry pancakes left. She nodded in complete shock. And if he noticed that the pancakes were slightly salty from his mother's blubbering of joy, he did not show it.

That was the first day the "we"-talk began.

Healers thought it was unhealthy, this "living in someone else's shadow" type thing. But the Weasleys frankly could not give two galleons (not that they did not _have_ that many galleons to give now, what with the boys all grown up and earning their own living and such). They were just too relieved, feeling that things were finally heading back in the general direction of Normal. Honestly, any type of normalcy was welcomed in the Burrow.

Ron was back to putting his foot in his mouth – once he and Hermione got married, and Percy continued "prat-ifying" their lives with his annoying presence. Charlie was singed every couple of weeks from those dratted dragons and Bill's French remained as terrible as Fleur's desire to finally "_'af cheel-dren"_.

In fact, the only person who had the guts to confront George wasn't a Weasley.

"So George," Lee began tentatively. It was only 2 weeks after George had declared _their need_ for blueberry pancakes, and he really didn't want to look the gift Thestral in the mouth. (At least now that he could really see what it looked like). "How's the shop going? Need help?"

George grinned proudly like Oliver "I'm-the-captain-you'd-bloody-well-listen-to-me" Wood would over a successful new play. "It's doing amazing. After opening shop last week, the new Vomiting Voldie's are doing great. We knew it was going to be a hit!"

There lay Lee's opening, just as he paused to ponder the horribly fascinating idea of a hurling Dark Lord. It was like Neville during Potions – you wanted to be there to witness him incinerate a cauldron, yet you never wanted to be close enough to risk becoming one with the disgusting potions ingredients and bits of metal (call it survivor instincts or what you will).

"George, not to sound… well… you know, I was wondering… I…" although commentating was something Lee Jordan was a genius at, broaching a somewhat taboo subject half afraid that his best friend would shut his golden mouth again for another 2 months, was most definitely not the Gryffindor's forte. Despite his obvious failure at forming a complete, coherent and grammatically "put together" sentence, Lee ploughed ahead.

_Hmm, how not to talk about Fred and yet __**talk**__ about Fred? How to ask him why the blazes was he dispensing this 'we' business?_

"Why the blazes are you dispensing this 'we' business?"

Lee could feel his muscles stiffening (could rigor mortis set in despite an unhealthy case of being alive??) and his mouth getting dry. Oh Merlin. OH MERLIN. He did NOT just say that.

The man who just stuck his head up his arse was expecting George to shout, punch him, break down, shatter glass or cause a hurricane, really, _anything_. But the one-eared man did something completely mind-boggling.

George shrugged. Lee gaped. And the rest of the customers in the WWW continued on unaware of the little miracle that they were still in the shop unscathed after Lee's burst of pure stupidity and insensitivity.

"I was kind of expecting that." The trick shop owner explained simply in the face of his best friend's jaw sweeping his floor.

"I know people think it's a form of holding on. Hell, _Hermione's_ been dropping books of survival and psycho-whatnot all over my pad. Thinks I'm still stuck on _grief_ or some tripe like that… Need to move to anger." He gazed pensively at the shelf of Canary Creams wondering whether to move it closer to the Flouncing Flamingos. Do people want to have transfigurating pies and colour/action inducing products together? Would it encourage more sales?

George rolled his eyes. Since when was he ever concerned with that? It was always Fred's responsibility. Sighing, he turned to regard his old schoolmate.

"I'm not, you know." He cocked his head as though someone was whispering in his remaining ear. "I'm not stuck in Fred's shadow or fulfilling his dreams or whatever you call it."

George smiled the same beatific yet tinged with reminisce type grin that he wore that very blueberry-pancake morning.

"I'm not living Fred's life for him," he paused as though searching for the words to explain that morning he woke up and decided to live. "I'm just living my life... like he wanted me to."

* * *

George never stopped talking that way.

And his listeners started to understand that it had nothing to do with grief or overcoming it. They knew George always saw himself as a twin (and how can a twin be anything but a single part of two?).

So when he said "what a great idea we came up with" they knew he had not created it all alone.

And they could not help but remark "you two have _such _great ideas."

* * *

A/N: My first HP fanfic, so please be kind. I've always wanted to write this, yet I suppose I thought that a Draco-Ginny would be my first fic. But after Fred's death, this thought of _surviving_ consumed me. I suppose I was trying to pick on George's instincts and intuitions as an incomplete remainder of a whole and how life would go on yet be quite a little bit worse than before. I hope I didn't make it all too frivolous but I wanted George to retain his sense of humour yet tinge it with a touch of irony and bitterness. And like another George said in Grey's Anatomy "I don't know how to live in a world he doesn't exist."


End file.
